It hurts,but I wont fight you
by Momo667
Summary: John Watson is a man who has just returned from Afghanistan, to only trade one battle field for another. To care for his sister, how far will he go. Injured and desperate he'll do what he must. *This is my first story EVER! So please be nice *This story is very dark. You have been warned. *JohnLock *Johniarty
1. Chapter 1

"The wires got the best of him

All that he invested in goes

Straight to hell

Straight to hell"

\- Wires by The Neighbourhood

Fuck! What was he going to do now? He had set that money apart for this week's groceries, hidden from Harry so she wouldn't blow it all on booze and god knows what else. But now it was gone, like Harry. She must have found it and thought it was a good idea to grab it and bale.

"Stupid, stupid!", thought John as he stood in front of the freezer. "Of course she was gonna find it, she's not a fucking idiot!" John yelled, throwing the freezer door closed, storming off in order to find his dipshit sister.

When she was younger she would find their father's stash and flush it down the loo, no matter where or how unbelievable the place, she would find it. That is if she wanted to. Now though. She was no longer looking for their father's stash but the money that John would hide to buy them food, clothes and shelter. But she thought she needed the cash so she could get to her liquor and drown out her sadness and humiliation with vodka and tequila.

The fool he had been to believe she wanted to get sober without the help of a hospital or a rehab center. The few days that she was sober she would spiral down into detox and everything would go to shit.

He was a doctor god damn it! He should be able to help her through that! But how could he? They were dirt poor, he couldn't dream about getting his hands on the things he needed to help her through that shit storm; hell he didn't even have enough money for fucking food! Let alone medicine.

John was walking down the sidewalk looking for a head of familiar dirty blond hair, when he heard sobbing coming from the back of a dirty skip.

In the darkness of the alleyway he saw his sister sitting on her arse with a bottle of cheap vodka in her hand and crying like a five-year-old, lost and confused.

"Harry", John said softly, slowly moving towards her, as if she were a wild animal and any sudden movement would startle her away. "Comm'ir Harry, I'll take you home". Pfff yeah, "home".

Home was a shitty little sit-in, big enough to not cause claustrophobia with fading walls the color of piss and fucked up pluming that ran only cold water. That's where he's taking her back to.

God he was such a fuck up. Because of his bum leg and shaky hand no one would hire him as a doctor, and because of said blasted leg, he couldn't carry heavy things without tumbling over in pain.

"What the hell am I gonna do?" He thought as he came around to help Harry up and walk.

On closer inspection he could see that she had vomit all over her front and was crying black from the makeup she had put on a day ago, when she was feeling better. He grabbed the bottle from her fingers and was surprised when she didn't put up a fight. "She must be pissed out of her mind", he thought as he helped her walk as much as he could without causing his leg pain.

While he was searching for Harry, the sky had gone black and the night roamers began to appear.

Prostitutes and dealers came out in hopes that the night would hide them from the men in blue and keep them safe to sell their goods.

Walking along and ignoring the calls of sin, he saw something that would change everything. He saw a man giving a lovely pair of legs a couple of good notes to later disappear in the alley.

If he had that kind of money he would be able to get Harry into a good rehab center and maybe get them out of that shithole, there were living in now, if only...

He stopped to look at Harry.

She was so damn wasted she didn't even know where or what was going on.

If he had money he could get her some help, get her better. He would be able to have a decent conversation with her without her yelling and crying.

He would be able to see her smile and laugh, not vomit and shiver all through the night as she went through detox.

He would be able to help her.

Hope arised in John the more he thought about it, it didn't matter that he would be doing something illegal and immoral, he would be saving his sister! Fuck his pride, he would do what had to be done. As soon as he took Harry back, he would put on something tight and take to the streets.

Tell me what you all think.

I´ll update when I can.

This is also my first ever story written, so please be nice

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Thank you for reading, until next time.


	2. Chapter 2

"That boy, take me away, into the night

Out of the hum of the street lights and into a forest

I'll do whatever you say to me in the dark

Scared I'll be torn apart by a wolf in mask

Well I have brittle bones it seems

I bite my tongue and I torch my dreams

Have a little voice to speak with

And a mind of thoughts and secrets"

-Candles by Daughter

It's been three weeks now since John decided to start selling himself.

In those weeks he's been able to buy Harry and himself some new clothes, food and was even able to pay the rent in advance. Things had gotten marginally better, he's still way off from getting Harry into a rehab center but he was certain he would get there.

At the moment John was on his knees giving an unknown man a blowjob.

When he first started he had almost puked because the stranger had rammed his cock right down his throat with no disregard for his gag reflex. Which was a surprise for him because when he was younger he was able to deepthroat anytime. (And pretty damn well, by the way his ex loves used to scream his name.) Needless to say he didn't get payed.

Now he had gotten better (or better said, remembered how to do it).

He can now deepthroat without gagging or spitting out bile. He must admit it took him a while to remember how to shut down his gag reflex and go with the flow.

When he was younger John was a bit of a heartbreaker, he would have a new girlfriend or boyfriend every week. Releasing his pent up frustrations with them in the form of sex. Don't get him wrong.

John was top of his class and would prefer to study rather than going partying with his mates, but that was his way of releasing the anger and tension his home life brought him. The same goes for when he was in the army.

He even had a nickname for that very reason: "Three Continents Watson". Given the nickname, he was pretty sure he was good in the sack or at least good at giving head.

The man in front of him was getting close, he could tell by the way his bollocks were twitching in his hand.

He had a rule when doing these things and that rule was, "We're not doing shit if you don't have a condom on". Pretty simple, if he was gonna do this, he was gonna stay safe. So when the man finally did cum, he came in the condom and not down John's throat. Fuck that. He wasn't getting any kind of STDs today, thank you very much.

He got off of his hurting knees to stand in front of the man to receive his payment. The man was tucking himself away when he spoke.

"Ya'ah got ya self a damn good mouth on ya luv, es like fucking a pussy." With those words he turned to leave.

"Wait a damn second! This wanker didn't give me my money!", John thought as he grabbed the man by the arm with his right hand and pulled him back.

"You're not leaving until you give me my money 'luv' ", John said giving the man's arm a painful squeeze. "Let go of meh, ya crazy fuck! I ant giving ya shit", the man yelled as he tried to swing at John.

Wrong move.

John released the man's arm and caught the sorry excuse of a punch with his left hand, grabbing and then twisting until he heard a satisfying pop.

The poor sap fell to the dirty concrete floor in a heavy heap as he cried out in pain. "MA ARM!YA BROKE MA ARM!", "No, I dislocated it. You'll be fine! So stop your whining.", John said calmly as he reached down to grab the man's wallet. Taking everything inside. If he hadn't tried to hit him he would have happily taken what he had asked for, but nope. This man wanted to be a complete wanker, he would learn his lesson.

John stood and limped off with all the poor sod's cash, in search of his next client. Unaware of the pair of dark eyes watching him leave.

"What a lovely man", Jim said to himself as he watched the man with hair the color of silvering gold, and skin hinting bronze. He was a small man, but compacted by what he could see from the tight green shirt and dark, black jeans that did wonders to his plush bum.

Jim was interested to say the least, which wasn't that common for him, since he could have anything or anyone he wanted. But this man had something, something dark and beautiful. It gave him chills just thinking about it.

The way his eyes glinted when he heard the dislocation in the man's arm.

The small turn of his lips, when the man screamed out in pain, fallen and twisting on the floor.

It was quite a sight; He was quite the sight. He wanted him. And he would make him his.

John was standing in the street under the street light, trying his best to look appealing to anyone who would want to have a piece of his arse.

A pretty lady came around looking interested in a good time when a man in fancy suit came up into his line of view. He was taller than himself, but most men were so that was no surprise to him. He was a handsome man; pale complexion that contrasted beautifully with his dark eyes and hair.

"Hey there sweet stuff, how much for that lovely tush?". The stranger said in a light Irish accent.

"Depends on what you're thinking about having, but just so you know, I don't come cheap.", John said with a wink, trying his hardest to sound seductive .

The man smiled wide, looking a bit crazy with his dark brown eyes hinting at something dark and twisted.

"Oh, that won't be a problem sweetheart." The man said dragging out the "R".

John had a nagging feeling in his gut, but it looked like the bloke had cash, cash that he needed right now, if he wanted to get Harry better. Even though his gut was screaming at him that this was a bad idea, that he should just walk away and look for someone else...

"Ah fuck it." He smiled right back, "Really now?". Sealing the deal with no form or way of coming back.

"I hope you don't mind if we do this in the ally do you? I'm in a bit of a rush", the man said tilting his head to indicate the ally by the side.

That was at least a good idea.

If the bloke did end up being crazy like he suspected and shanking his arse to kingdom come, he would at least be able to call for help on the crowded street if he needed to. Or be a savage and beat the shit out of him, then run like hell. The man didn't look too tough, but then again he couldn't really tell when the man was wearing a suit.

"Wherever is fine with me as long as I get my money; Oh, and you wear protection, not that I'm assuming anything, just as a precaution" John said with a nervous chuckle, "With that, you'll have yourself a pretty, damn good night", John finished, giving the man a flirtatious smile.

"Not a problem love" The stranger said.

John, not noticing the stranger's face darkening for a flash.

He began heading for the alleyway. Following the stranger into the darkness, he mentally prepared himself for the inevitable.

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

I'll update when I can.

Thanks for reading, until next time...


	3. Chapter 3

"I think I worry a lot

I need to take it easy

I got this anxious feeling

But it goes away for a minute"

-Cry Baby by The Neighbourhood

The alley was dark and a bit humid but it would have to do, so there would be some sense of privacy for what they were about to do.

The man turned abruptly smiling at John "My name's Jim. I want you to scream that while I fuck you into the skip.", Jim said in a voice that suggested innocence but the words were just... wrong.

"Uhm, sure thing?". What hell was he supposed to say to that? No one had ever given their name; it was all blissful ignorance. Fuck, pay and leave, in that order, no personal information given.

"And you are?" Jim said, sounding way too giddy. "Erm...John.", he answered dubiously. Were they supposed to shake hands now? 'Hey nice to meet'cha, now let me bend over so you can fuck me.' Not your everyday thing but hey, whatever tickled their pickle right?

John was snapped out of his thoughts when Jim approached, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him into the alley wall. Immediately attacking his neck. Licking, sucking and biting, leaving trails of saliva as he went.

John forced himself to calm down and go with it. He was doing this willingly, he thought.

Jim's hands were moving to cup his arse and lift his shirt. John stifled a moan as Jim found his nipple and gave it a sharp turn.

In a flash John found himself face first into a brick wall. Jim had turned him around so he could bare his bum. Jim did quick work of John's trousers and pants leaving them bungled around his ankles. He braced himself on the wall and arched his back to give Jim better access to his entrance.

Hearing something crinkle behind him, he craned his neck to see Jim tearing a condom with his teeth, it was the same brand he used when his customers didn't have one on hand. He supposed that Jim had snuck it out of his trousers when he had pulled them down. Jim unrolled the condom onto himself, then held onto John's hip with his left.

Jim aligned himself to John's bum hole and pushed in holding on tight to his hip and lifting the back of his shirt to reveal the hot skin beneath. He felt a hot tongue run up his back as he was breached completely with a quick thrust. Hitting arse cheeks and the back of his thighs with hard, sharp hips.

John knew that anal was painful, if you didn't prepare yourself correctly. So before going out he would stretch and lube himself up so when he did get down and dirty he'd be fine, that is if his client went slow. Jim was being anything but gentle as he fucked John into the brick wall.

His thrusts were brutal and merciless, his pace fast and hard but hitting John's prostate with each thrust so it was painful and pleasurable at the same time.

Jim's hands were lifting his shirt higher and higher but he wasn't really paying attention to that, more focused on trying to stay standing as his body was close to giving up. "Fuck!".

Oh! He was so tight! If Jim wanted him then, he'd be sure as hell to make him his now.

John was such a fine specimen, thought Jim as he observed John's body shake and jump with each thrust he gave. His body was strung tight as he moaned out in both pain and pleasure. John would hold his ground and take each bruising thrust like a champ, gasping and grunting wantonly.

When Jim had walked up to him, he was expecting to lose interest right away. How wrong he was. The closer he got to Johnny boy, the more he could see the little details standing out.

The light brown in his blonde-silver hair, his plump pink lips, the texture of his skin, then he saw them.

His eyes, oh those eyes!

They were the color of a raging sea with hints of sky blue; silver gray surrounding his pupil, the combination was quite lovely but the color wasn't what pulled Jim in. No, it was the strength in them, the defines, the cold hard willpower, the light. Jim grunted.

Oh, it almost made him cum just thinking about it. Jim wanted those eyes for himself, to see them slowly break, to see them lose their shine. Maybe he could put them in a jar? But oh no, he couldn't do that, that just wouldn't do, he wanted John's warm body to look up at him in fear and surrender, to feel the burning hotness around him, struggling to breath just like now, gasping and trying to keep quiet.

He could tell that John was enjoying this, wanted to or not, his penis was rising and dripping precum.

His hands roaming so as to feel the muscle move beneath his hands getting a glance of ink here and there.

Licking the sweat that formed on his back. When he saw it, a bullet scar, more specifically the entrance of a sniper round. He could tell by the size of it. That meant that his little whore friend here saw some action, Jim smiled as he picked up his pace. "Oh, how lovely".

John's hands were getting scraped by the brick wall he was using to hold himself up on, it was obvious he was bleeding. The moisture and the pain giving it away. He was holding on to his last ounce of strength to stay afoot when he felt strong arms wrap around his chest and flip them over to the other side of the alley where a large skip was located. The arms released him and he fell on top of the lid.

The sound of skin slapping skin could be heard over the sound of London at night. Grunts and moans came from both men, growing louder as their climaxes neared. Surprisingly John was the first to let go, without the need to stimulate his penis. Cumming in hot white ropes all over the front of the skip, clenching Jim in the process, causing Jim to tip over the edge, cumming hard into the condom. With a few choice thrusts he slowly road out the last of his orgasm, his body giving minute spasms as he came down.

John was twitching with the aftermath of his orgasm, finally feeling the sourness of his rectum as Jim pulled out, removing the condom and tying it, throwing it further down the alley. John moved to stand and gave a small wince. "This guy's got no mercy" thought John as he pulled up his pants and trousers as Jim did up his zip looking rather happy.

When John finished with zipping himself up he turned to look at Jim so as to receive his payment. Jim still had a smile on his face, assessing John in a strange manner that send chills running down his spine. This man was dangerous, there was no doubt about that, the man just screamed 'psycho'. "But this 'psychos' got cash", he thought as walked closer to Jim expecting him to do something.

Jim dug in his suit jacket to retrieve his wallet, taking out a couple of notes to give to John but before he did he spoke, "Johnny love, the streets aren't a very safe place to be in this line of work, with all those creeps and illnesses around you might get yourself into some trouble, and I'd hate for that to happen to such a pretty little thing like you.", Jim said with what sounded like false worry. "I own a lovely little place where you could be safe and sound to work, away from all these nasty little dangers, all you'd have to do is work for me. Sooooo, whatda ya say Johnny, wanna strike a deal?".

All the warning lights and alarms were going off in John's head as the man spoke, and damn it he was going to listen to them this time.

"Thanks, but no thanks, I can take care of myself.", John said all the false flirtation from before gone, now that the deed was done.

Trying to make a grab at the money Jim had in his hand, so he could leave.

He moved his hand away.

"Persistent prat!", John thought. "Oh, come now Johnny boy don't be stubborn, as I see it, it's quite the deal, it would be waaaay better than being out here in the cold mean streets.", Jim said waving the money around. John gnashed his teeth, it was a good deal, too good. He knew there was a catch, anyone with half a brain could see that. He just didn't know what it was, besides he really didn't want to associate himself with this man. Like he said before, there was something off about him, something that made John's stomach churn with unease, and he had learned to trust his gut.

So he made his face stone cold and looked Jim right in the eye. "I said I can take care of myself.", John said in his captain voice. Making Jim pause and look at him, wide eyed.

Not one to overlook an opportunity, John reached over and snatched his money away from Jim's hand, turning and walking away. Limping not from his leg but from the pain in his arse.

Jim was still for a second or two until he realized that he had a raging hard on, Again.

"Ohhhhh Johnny boy, you're something else.", Jim said in a breathy tone, breaking the silence that he was left with.

Turning to watch John limp away, taking satisfaction in that. He spoke again, "We'll see if you can, my pretty little pet, we'll see". His voice was dark and evil promising death and destruction, a cruel smile gracing his pale lips.

"Sebastian, dear.", he spoke again watching John's fading back. "Follow him.". Upon those words a figure appeared from the shadows revealing a tall man with light blond hair and dead green eyes. His left eye showcasing an angry pale scar in the form of a line running down his face. "Yes boss", was all he said before following after John who had turned the corner.

"Johnny boy you will be mine, no matter what you say or how hard you struggle.". Jim turned exiting the alley, taking his phone out and pressing a number. A sleek black car pulled up not long after. Opening the door and stepping inside, Jim smiled to himself feeling a bit giddy for what was to come.

Tell me what you think

I'll continue when I can

Constructive criticism is alwasy welcome

Thanks for reading, until next time...


	4. Chapter 4

_Warning: There_ _'_ _s rape in this chapter, if that triggers you, please don_ _'_ _t read._

"He lives a lie, his name is Hope

I'm never what I like

I'm double-sided

And I just can't hide

I kinda like it

When I make you cry

'Cause I'm twisted up, I'm twisted up, inside"

-Semi-Automatic by Twenty One Pilots

Almost a week after John's encounter with Jim and he couldn't shake a nagging feeling that someone was watching him. He would blame it on his PTSD, trying to shove it in the back of his mind but it was always there. Kind of like there was a target painted onto the back of his head and everyone was dying to aim at the center. It was unnerving to say the least, so he did the rational thing and played it safe. He avoided walking lonely areas and even stopped working the streets, which was becoming a problem seeing that he was beginning to run low on funds.

The only good thing about this whole fiasco was that John no longer had a limp, (ever since his night with Jim, but he really didn't want to have to duel on that.) Which meant that he could try working at someplace other than his current occupation so as to earn their keep.

A couple days after the encounter with Jim, John began working at a small covenant store, where they accepted him only a day after applying.

John was in charge of carrying boxes, in and out of storage, restocking the goods on the shelves. Everything was fine, for a whole two days, until it all went to shit.

The majority of John's new coworkers were students, so he was constantly asked to work after hours. Without a given complaint, and understanding, he always accepted

When closing, he could feel that something just wasn't right. He could feel it in his bones that his very existence was in danger. (To be honest, it truly was.)

John was shifty, looking ahead and behind himself to see if anyone was following him but every time he would check, no one was there. Walking fast, John was trying to head home to safety as quickly as possible. "Come on John! You're just over reacting, nothing's gonna happen, you're jus-" His thoughts came to a running halt as he felt a fist collide with his jaw making him see stars. Whoever his attacker was, was pretty strong, by the way his jaw was aching, surely leaving a bruise.

His assailant grabbed him by neck and throw him into an alleyway, where it was dark and cold. Hitting a solid brick wall John pulled himself together as much as he could and throw a blind punch in front of him, hitting his attacker in what he assumed was their abdomen.

When the world refocused he could see a tall, well-built man with light blond hair coming at him again. Summoning all the strength he had, he met the man in the middle and throw a well-aimed and precise punch to his attacker, aiming for the man's liver. The blond man blocked his attack and recounted with his own strike, hitting John in the nose making him tear up a bit. Immediately blood came gushing down his nose leaving a trail of red down his chin and neck, stopping at his shirt.

Blinking hard he backed away from him and watched his assaulter closely "Why the hell are you doing this, I don't have money! I don't even bloody know you!" John yelled at him as the taller man came at him again, foreseeing this John prepared for the strike that came flying to his abdomen, hitting its mark John took the opening and punched the man in the face, now mirroring his own nose, the stranger kept on with his onslaught. John was trying all he could to keep the blows at bay, dodging what he could and returning just as many as they came.

After a while of this carnage John was beginning to feel the fatigue, his body aching and screaming for it to stop, begging him to rest and cease the pain, feeling the bruises form all over his body. But he wouldn't give up, he knew that there was no stopping this man, if he gave the stranger even a tiny bit of an advantage, John knew he'd be fucked.

Then out of nowhere, there was a stinging to his bottom jaw, halting his thoughts. The world was beginning tilt, trying to stay standing he felt a leg swipe at his knees making him crash into the concrete, landing on his side, head hitting the floor hard. His vision going in and out of black trying and failing to stand, there was a kick to his side and he tumbled over again, the kick being strong enough to make him dry heave.

Laying on the floor, John was waiting for his assaulter to take what little money he had and leave him be, when the worst happened. The stranger rolled John over to his front so he was lying on his belly, he felt the man tugging on his trousers and pants. The blood draining from his face and stomach dropping. Was this the man's goal!? On Raping him?! Venison clearing a bit from the adrenalin rush, John struggled as much as he could, flailing his legs and arms, but to no avail. His attacker grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him down so as not move, his face being smushed into the concrete, getting stabbed by tiny pebble's in the process. Finally tugging the garments down.

Fear griped at John as he knew there was no stopping this man, no one was around to help him, helpless and alone, struggling to get free.

He felt it.

The moment the intrusion entered his body. The tear of flesh and the warmth of blood running down his legs, it was almost like a comfort his blood was trying to give him, warmth. Then he started to move and the pain got worse, it felt as if there was sandpaper entering his body and ripping out, trying to tear him open. John stopped struggling, knowing it was only going to make things worse. He tried to relax his body as much as he could, to make it less painful.

The monster above him picked up his pace and was ramming into him, making him wheeze as he tried to breathe through the pain. John wanted to kill this man, to scream bloody murder, but the only sounds that he could make, were the pitiful lungfuls of air he was greedily sucking up.

John was limp as the man above him finished. Whimpering as he came inside, making the ripped flesh fester in fresh pain. A fleeting thought ran through his head hoping to himself that the man didn't have any diseases. He pulled out, presumably tucking himself back into his trousers. John thought it was the last of it, with the deed being done and all. How wrong he was.

Footsteps alerted him that someone else was in the alley with them. He turned to look and saw polished shoes come into view. "Ya know, I had a little speech asking if you could really protect yourself out here, seeing as what you said last time, but then… you just had to go and get yourself a different occupation.". Jim said kneeling down to pet John on the head, running his fingers through John's short, soft strands. "That's really why I sent Sebby here to fuck you, to make a point, Buuuuuuuut that thought went up in flames, so I thought Hey! Why not do it anyway? Just to show you what I can do." Jim was now running his hand down to John's neck, playing with the strands at his nape.

John wanted to cry-out with desperation and pain as 'Sebby' placed his foot onto his lower back, holding him down again "As if I can do anything in this condition.", putting strain to his rectum. His arse still bare, feeling the blood ooze out of himself. Thinking Jim was going to rape him too, and use the blood as lubricant.

"Since you turned down my last deal, we'll have to make a new one" Jim said, sounding way to chipper. He paused, as if in the process of thinking but John knew it was only to make things more dramatic. "Ok! Here's the deal!" Jim said, standing up quickly and looking down at John. "I'll send your drinkie of a sister, to one of the best rehab centers, In. The. World. and set her up for life." a pause "As in everything she wants I will provide it for her, she names it I'll get it, all you have to do is belong to me." He finished looking way too smug.

"Bloody prick" John thought, struggling to breath with 'Sebby's' foot on his back "A-and if" he groaned "I refuse." John asked in a pained voice.

"Well, she takes your place, only instead of belonging to me, I'll ship her off to Russia, where she'll become one of the many sex workers in those shady sex/drug dens where she'll probably die of an overdose or somethin, then I take you anyway." He gave a shrug. "I don't recommend that, after all I really would prefer to take you willingly." Jim said looking playful and happy, "This mas is sick" thought John as he tried to blink back the tears.

Grinding his teeth together, he made a decision, giving a pause, he spoke. "I won't ask how it is you know of her… but you promise… she'll be safe?" He waited for a response "I'll give you my word Johnny boy." Jim said in a sinfully slickly voice. "I accept your deal." regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. Jim was spinning and cheering like a child. "But I'll want proof that she's fine." John finished. Jim stopped his cheering and turned around on his toes smiling down at John, making a hand gesture at Seb, lifting his foot off of him, John struggled to get on his knees with the pain in his arse and his trousers still around his knees, restricting his movements.

"Fine by me, I really don't care." Jim said looking at him "Gleeful bastard!" John thought struggling to keep eye contact with the black holes that were Jim's eyes.

"Ok let's seal the deal!" Jim clapped his hands together and all but sang in glee as he went to unzip his trousers.

John look on in horror as he realized what it was Jim was doing. Pulling himself out, hard and ready. John realized that Jim must have been watching, as he was getting raped, bile was rising in his throat but he kept it down, refusing to throw up. "He got off on it! The sick fuck actually got off on it!" were his panicked thoughts "Instead of 'shaking on it' why don't you suck on it." Jim said holding himself out to John smiling like a crazed man, "He is a crazy man. No. Not a man, he's the devil." John thought, looking up at Jim with hate.

Fed up with the wait Jim walked forward and forced himself into and down John's throat, choking him in the process "Bite down and bad things will happen Johnny boy." Jim said, holding a promise of something dark behind the false joy. John was trying not to bite down, what with the combination of surprise and pain from the bruising on his face.

Closing his eyes, focusing on shutting down his gag reflex as Jim thrusted into his mouth, making him go slacked jaw. "You know Johnny boy." he paused giving a rough thrust "I think you look lovely with your face all black and blue, it's so pretty and memorizing." a stuttering thrust "oh and the way that your eyes look up at me in such… hatred. Oh, it's nearly orgasmic." Jim said, not stopping in his brutal thrusts.

Saliva was now dripping down his chin along with what tasted like precum. John was in too much pain to really reacted to what was being said so he did the only thing he could do and glared at Jim.

"You know, now that you're rightfully mine for the taking, I think it's time you know my full name and you tell me yours in return." Jim said, still thrusting into Johns mouth, "I'm James, James Moriarty." A strangled choke, "No." John thought as his eyes widened.

Moriarty was the name spoken in hushed whispers on the streets, apparently the man was a powerful criminal mastermind that was untouchable by anyone. Even NSY didn't dare touch him, fearing for their lives, those bold enough to try could never hold him in for long, seeing as how there was never any evidence against him. It was common knowledge though, that the man ran everything. He had a finger in every single cookie jar there was, pulling all the strings. He was known as the 'The spider king'; the name made sense since he had a string for everything, guns, bombings, drugs, the traffic of people, you name it he probably had a bit of it. Anyone who was unlucky enough to get caught in his web was sure to be dead.

And here he was, standing in front of John was the spider king, his prick down John's throat. He knew in that moment that there was no hope for him, not anymore. This man was the king of everything illegal, everything immoral, if he wanted something he was going to get it, regardless of what and who it was. John had tears in his eyes, realizing this, as Ji- no, Moriarty finished in his mouth, forcing John to swallow his salty ejaculation.

Pushing John's face away, Moriarty put himself away and smiled at him, "And your full name?"

Moriarty asked, watching John try and fail, at pulling his trousers back up, the pain too unbearable. "Something tells me that I don't need to tell you." He responded voice raspy, looking down so as to not meet his eyes, feeling ashamed, embarrassed, enraged and afraid.

Moriarty laughed and looked at John again, "Good, so you know who I am and what I can do, right? Dr. John Watson, that makes things soooo much easier." he said turning and walking to the end of the alley, Seb not far behind him.

"I'll have someone come around and pick you up in the morning, best be prepared to leave by then, oh and you should get a plan going for your sister, seeing as how it's important to you and what not, just tell the men what you want to do and they'll do it, they know better than to defy orders." Moriarty words fading as he walked out, Seb right on his heel, leaving John alone at last.

John laid on the concrete floor for a while looking up at the night sky, contemplating what just happened. Moving to pull up his pants and trousers back on, slowly succeeding in doing so. Heaving himself off of the floor with the help of the wall he stood still, adjusting to the pain in his arse and began to walk. Slowly limping to the end of the alleyway, feeling the blood run down his legs, his body was in so much pain, but he needed to get back home and inform Harry of what was to come.

He slowly made it back to the sit-it, feeling light headed from the blood loss but pushing through it. Taking his keys to unlock the door only to see that the door was indeed already open. Feeling his blood run cold he ignored the pain in his arse and ran inside fearing that Moriarty had sent men after his sister. But upon entering he saw why the door was ajar. Harry had found his money again and helped herself to it. On the couch was Harry with a bottle of empty Tequila in her hand, asleep no doubt utterly pissed.

John finally broke, seeing his sister like this was the last thing he needed at the moment. He fell onto his knees finally feeling the day's events catch up to him, the pain and soreness of his body making him feel ill. He knelt by Harry's head, sobbing as he stroked her hair, "Oh god Harry, oh god." He whispered caressing her softly as his quiet tears leaked from his eyes.

John stayed like that for what felt like time itself, just caressing Harry's head and crying, no one there to disrupted John's thoughts. "At least Harry will be happy. I won't be there, but she doesn't need me to be happy. There's really no other way…I can live with this, if it's for Harry…yeah I can do this." John tried to see the light side of things, John knew that his life from then on was going to be a living hell, he knew he was going to wish for death on a daily basis but he would toughen through it for her, she would be happy after all. For her he'd go to hell and back, bring heaven to its knees, anything she wanted he would do it for her because she was his sister and the last thing he had left.

So he would sacrifice his mind, body and soul to the demon spider with pit less eyes to achieve his sister's happiness, even if it meant he would no longer be part of her world. He stood slowly so as not to re-open this wounds and slowly went to the bathroom to clean and patch himself up.

When the first light of dawn came around, he was still awake, unable to sleep. His duffel bag packed and on the floor by his feet. Harry still asleep besides him on the shitty little couch. He had taken a shower, skin still red from scrubbing himself raw and had tended to his injuries applying ointment to the tears in his rear.

Changed into his comfy oatmeal colored jumper and a random pair of comfortable jeans he waited for Moriarty's men to take him away. There was a knock at his door and he just knew, they were here.

Standing slowly and carefully he went to the door and opened it, revealing two tall men in suits waiting outside. Not caring to be socially correct and greeting them, he spoke "You'll take Harry to the hospital as soon as she's awake, then she'll pick where she wants to go, understood?" John said looking the man dead in the eyes "Your boss probably told you what would happen if she gets hurt right? Treat her well and you won't die." He spoke in a deadpan voice.

The man nodded and stepped aside so as to give John room to pass. Sighing he walked back and kissed Harry on the crown of her head. Standing, he tilting his head to indicate his duffel bag, catching on to his meaning one of the men garbed it and followed John out the door. John lead the way down to the sidewalk where a slick black BMW was parked, the man deposited Johns duffel bag into the trunk and walked over to the driver side to start the car. Sighing one last time John gave himself a moment to bid his freedom farewell. Steeling himself, he opened the car door and stepped inside, "No turning back now.".

Tell me what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

"Take the worst situations

Make a worse situation

Follow me home, pretend you

Found somebody to mend you

I feel numb

I feel numb in this kingdom

Can you clean lace faces?

Black out nights and tight spaces?

We'll feel distant embraces

Scratching hands 'round my waist, yeah"

-Numbers by Daughter

Again, the same bloody name, always whispered, never spoken aloud, Moriarty. Sherlock was trying not to get his hopes up, but it was so hard when everyone feared that name, "Maybe this 'Moriarty' person will be more entertaining than the less imaginative and boring criminal classes." Thought Sherlock with disdain as he looked down into the streets below, watching the people walk by, deducing them as they went, "Unhappy marriage. Suicidal tendencies. Raging alcoholic. Socially-inept. Boring, boring BORING!" nothing was new. At this rate his brain would rot. If nothing new came up soon, Sherlock was going to start throwing things in desperation, chain smoking also sounded like a good idea.

If only all his cases were as thrilling as the cabbie and Chinese circus ones, at least those had gotten his blood pumping and brain sparking.

Turning away from the window, heading for his hidden carton of cigarettes.

Just then an explosion resounded. Presumably the building in front, from the way he was blown from his feet, now on the ground. "Oh at last! Entertainment." Sherlock smiled to himself as he stood from the ground "Finally."

It's been half a month since John was taken from the shitty sit-it he was living in with his sister, who he had to leave behind. Half a mouth since he ceased to be a free man.

Moriarty, his new employer/Criminal consultant, ran a club he cleverly disguised at a strip club and bar. Only as front obviously, seeing as how all the dancers (Including himself) were only on stage, not as entertainment, but to show case what was on the menu. Yes, Moriarty's little establishment was a brothel of sorts. Seeing as how owning a brothel in England is illegal, it made sense that he'd try to keep it hidden from the public eye.

All the workers here were ether blackmailed into keeping their mouth shut or weren't going to jeopardise their steady income. And as for the clients, they had to have a special invite from someone who owned the place, meaning Moriarty, or one of his underlings. That, or had a ridiculous amount of money. Either way, when they entered, they were tested to see if they had any sexually transmitted diseases, if they did, they weren't allowed to sleep with anyone, (If they wanted, they could watch the dancers or watch someone else have fun, depending on what you payed.)

John of cores, was one of the poor saps who was getting blackmailed into keeping his mouth shut, seeing as how Moriarty controlled Harry's well being. That, and the fact that he lived with Moriarty, not having a choice in the matter, seeing as how he did agree to be Moriarty's. So anywhere the mad-man went, so did John (Seeing as how Jim moved around a lot). To put it simply, he was Jim's dog.

And as for the moment, John was getting fucked by one of his clients.

John was on his back with his legs spread wide to provide the man entrance to his arsehole. The man was a 50 something-year-old with thinning hair and flabby stomach. Holding his legs and slapping into him, blubbering incomprehensibly. He was a sweet man, he took his time in opening John, giving his bum, legs, and back little kisses.

You could tell that the man was lonely. Aching to have someone to love, though John couldn't say why the man had chosen to come to a whore house to find pleasure, when he was 'ok' lookin enough to find someone he didn't have to pay. But he wasn't there to ask questions, he was there to spread his legs and provide pleasure.

Nearing his climax, the man moved his hands from John's hips, to hold his face, kissing him as he emptied himself out into John. He didn't really mind that he kissed him, seeing as how he had a part of this man still inside of him. Being a whore kind of kills the whole "intimacy" thing anyway. So, what was a harmless little kiss?

After a while, he got up, making sure that his client was sated, making his way into the bathroom that was attached to his room (Each worker had their own specific room). John's room scheme was 'Black & White' made specifically to cater Moriarty's whims, he was the one to choose what and what went in, choosing the furnishing, flooring and room paint. The room was big and beautiful, with a King-sized round bed, up against the wall with quilting varying in blacks and dark grays, the floor was black marble with white cracking, thin white bed-curtains hung from the bed, making the bed look like it was covered in fog. To the sides of the bed were two large black nightstands, within were all the things you would expect to be in a whore house nightstand, dildos, butt plugs, handcuffs, lube, the works. The rest of the furnishing varied on black wood and steel.

If the bedroom made you gasp, then bathroom will definitely take your breath away. The floor was also black marble with white cracking. On one side was the toile which was black porcelain, along with the sink. The sink, looked like a kind of bird bather with a long elegant, steel faucet. On the other side was the shower, the shower door was made of glass that followed the wall, exiting, there was a white fuzzy water-matt. Within was a large shower space, on the far side of the shower, was a hanging steel shower head with a touch screen controller imbedded into the wall. On the same side of the toilet and faucet (In the corner), was a large tub/jacuzzi, big enough to fit at least 4 people, which was also black marble along with a white-water-matt. All the mirrors in the bedroom and bathroom had black veins in them, making them look hunting in a beautiful way. And this was just HIS room in the brothel.

Taking a quick shower to wash off for his next client. John began to hear a commotion coming from the bedroom, not one to wait for someone else to handle it, he put on his boxer-briefs and stepped outside to have a look. Only to find Moriarty himself on his phone, standing by his client, who was currently being forced onto his knees by Sebastian, gun in his hand. "What's going on?" John asked walking up to Jim with a frown on his face, "Did he not pay or something?", "Oh no, that's not it." He answered in a bored voice, not looking up from his phone. "Then what is it?" he asked looking down at the trembling naked man obviously having been awoken.

Pocketing his phone Jim looked up at John, a smile breaking out, "He didn't give permission to kiss you is all." He said in his fake happy voice, eyes looking dark and angry. Oh, so that was it, he was blowing off steam because something went haywire. That meant he was in big trouble and apparently so was this man.

"Does it really matter that they kiss me or not, you're still getting paid!" John said looking at Jim defiantly. Hoping that Jim didn't kill this man, the man had done nothing wrong, (Besides coming here) he'd been kind to John, saw to him getting well prepared and tried to at least get him off. He didn't deserve to die because he had kissed him. "P-Please! If it's because I didn't pay for that, I-I'll do it now! Please don't kill me! Please don't!" the man yelled looking as if he might cry.

"Tsk tsk tsk, no talking from you, Seb." Moriarty said, shaking his finger in front of the man, as if he were a child caught doing something wrong, then making a hand gesture to Sebastian who then swiped his gun over the man's head, knocking him unconscious, leaving no time for John to argue. "And as for you. Don't argue with me, especially when it comes to dealing with my business, Ok love." He said turning away. John was having none of that, if James thought that John was going to lay down and let this pass, he was grossly mistaken.

"This has nothing to do with your business. This has to do with you being a prat about someone kissing me." John yelled as he grabbed onto Jim's arm, hard. Turning back around to look at him, eyes penetrating his very soul. He smiled, looking down to where John was holding him still. Feeling like he might've made a huge mistake, but still holding his ground. Before he could open him mouth to say something, he felt a prick on his neck.

Cupping his neck and turning, just in time to see Sebastian holding a needle. Seeing as his vision went fuzzy, body going unresponsive, he began to fall. Only instead of falling and hitting the floor, he was caught. A pair of firm arms were holding him up "Johnny love, it matters to me because your lips are mine, you are mine, and only I can kiss you, and hold you close." Moriarty said in a loving voice, rubbing his face to the side John's head, almost like a cat. "And I'll show them, all of them, that you are mine.". Those were the last chilling words John heard before the world went dark.

The first thing that John noticed when waking, was that he was on cold, concrete floor and his arms and hands were tied behind him, restraining his movements. Turning to get a better look, he saw that his arms were in a hogtie, looping around a pipe, keeping him secured to the floor. Now fully awake, John looked around.

It looked like he was being held in a small cellar, with no windows or lights. The only things in the room, was a small table, too far away to see the contents of and a furnace, which bathed the room in a warm red glow. Sitting still, John knew something was coming, something bad.

Opening the door, Moriarty stepped in, looking around and spotting his cute little pet. Smiling down at him, he walked closer, Johnny looked so ravishing in the light of the fire, the yellows and reds highlighting his blond hair and tannish skin, blue eyes really popping out. He was still in his red pants; that just did wonders to his lush bum. Tied down, like he had asked for.

He was on guard, "How sweet.", John's eyes were shifting between Moriarty and his lackeys. Pretty little thing that he was, he was refusing to show fear. He might have been tied up, but that didn't matter to him, he was still willing to fight, the fire and the threat in him was very real, which is why he had him drugged. He loved the fight that was in John, but his struggling would have made things more complicated, so he needed him asleep. Needed him not to put up a fight as he killed the old man.

"How was your sleep, love?" Moriarty asked as he looked John over, watching at how he was slightly shivering from the cold, seeing as how he was dressed and in the middle of Fall. "But that will end soon enough." Moriarty thought gladly as he walked over to the table, his back turned to John. "I don't appreciate getting drugged." John said in a cold voice, letting the venom seep into his words, a pause, "What did you do to that man?" He asked. "Johnny love, don't ask stupid questions, it really doesn't suit you." Jim answer in a light tone, picking up the metal rod with his initials on it. Walking over to the furnace, he opened the small barred door and placed the rod inside, to heat up.

Jim turned, and when he did, he smiled. John was pale, and wide eyed, he had obviously seen it, and had come to the right conclusion, he knew what was going to happen to him. "Y-You can't be serious! N-no, you just can't! I'm not a damned farm animal, to have you brand me! What's wrong with you!" John yelled in a panicked voice as he struggled to get free, tugging at his restraints and wiggling on the floor. "Oh, but I can Johnny boy, you're mine, remember? Your life, for your sister's' life. And I like to have people know when something is mine." Moriarty answered, looking John dead in the eyes. Finally, the fear was bleeding into his lovely blue eyes.

"Hold him down." Moriarty said, the rod was now the perfect shade of red and orange. The two men that were with him walked over to John and took his shoulders into hand, holding him back, so he wouldn't move when branded. James took the metal rod into hand and walked over to where John was. "Breath in deep, and hold still, I don't want you moving when I put this on." He said, smiling as John thrashed about.

"Show me your chest now, no need to fear." John began to yell and continued to thrash as the men made John jut up his chest. Moving forward, Moriarty pressed the burning steel into John's soft flesh, right over his left pectoral. John was yelling bloody murder as he was burned. The sound of skin sizzling could be heard over John's agonized screams, as James pressed the brand harder into John, wanting the mark to be bold and clear.

The screams of pain ceased as John passed out; do to so much pain. His body going limp and unresponsive. Moriarty finished marking John, pulling the rod away, he stood, looking down at John and his newly marked chest. The initials 'J.M.' were etched into John's chest for life, he would hold those scares until his death, and those thoughts made Jim smile with pure delight. John was his, and now everybody would know who he belonged to, no matter who he lend him to, after all what was the use of having such a lovely toy if you weren't willing to share it.

Tell me what you think.

I'll continue when I can.

Constructive Criticism is always welcome.

Thanks for reading, until next time...


	6. Chapter 6

A few days late, but here it is! Please enjoy.

"All is lost again

But I'm not giving in

I will not bow

I will not break

I will shut the world away

I will not fall

I will not fade

I will take your breath away."

-I will not bow; Breaking Benjamin

Waking was hell.

Every part of his body was sore or in some sort of pain, It felt as if someone had thrown his body into traffic and watched as he hit every passing car.

Groaning, John slowly sat up, to assess his injuries. His chest suddenly burst into pain. Quickly, his hand flew up to meet his injury, feeling bandages beneath his fingers. John recalled last night's occurrences.

The pain was excruciating.

Was he really doing this? Burning his ownership onto his body, marking his damned territory.

John didn't know which was worse, the burning sensation or the fact that John was forever plastered with this mad mans name on his skin.

He pressed harder, wanting to really leave a make. The crazy fuck….

Then it hit him, the thought that he was really and truly fucked. Never again will he be able to look at himself without seeing this monstrosity on his skin, The thought itself was enough to make John want to cry out even more, and so he did.

John screamed and yelled, but to no avail. This was not going to stop, it'll never stop. He was no longer able to call himself a free human, or even a human at all! He was now a thing to be owned, it was truly terrible, feeling everything he once valued himself as, being torn from his very existence.

"Oh, I should've died when I got shot." He thought, before sweet oblivion took him ahold.

Now fully awake, John regretted his last thoughts, touching his wrapped and treated burn.

He was still human. Although, he sold his entire being to keep his sister safe and taken care of; but still a human of flesh and bone, heart and feelings, no different from anybody else. No matter what Jim did or said to try and break him, because there was no doubt in John's mind that is what he wanted, to break him.

So he would fight him, not physically, there was no way he could without putting Harry in danger, but mentally. He would not be broken, like a goddamn prized stallion. No, he would stay himself, he would not let his will break. His body might bruise and bend, but no matter what happened, he would not let his spirit get torn apart and thrown to the floor.

John was half laying, on a giant, lavish bed. The sheets were white satin and soft to the touch with a dark blue quilt. Looking around, he took note that he was in the penthouse Jim was currently staying at. Jim was obviously out, since, there was no type of sound coming from anywhere.

He must've been knocked out for some time, because the sun had just set. Leaving behind light blues, hot pinks and lavender, the sight was truly gorgeous.

John stayed in bed, seeing as how he felt like utter crap. Being in no mood to be out and about, not really having an appetite after the happening of yesterday. He stayed put, admiring the view the penthouse provided.

Watching as twilight became dusk, the colors bleeding into each other and becoming a dark blue, almost black,with stars dotting here and there. Dusk became night. The moon finally taking reign in the sky, washing the city below in a pale glow.

John stared out of the window/wall not caring as time passed. Looking out into the night, as lights were ignited and the city took on its own glow. It was lovely.

Just then, the room door was opened and Moriarty stepped in. Completely ignoring John as he took to the bathroom at the end of the small hall.

John's gaze followed him the entire time, watching as he disappeared behind the bathroom door. Straining his ears as he listened to Moriarty turning on the shower. Waiting, John steeled himself for what was to come. Who knew what the mad genius had under his sleeve this time?! Have him chained like a dog? Wear a collar?

John stayed in bed as a form of defiance, trying to convey that he wasn't scared enough to move from his place. So as to show Moriarty he had no power over his state of mind, not letting up that branding him, affected him. It was a weak show but what else could he do.

Keeping his head held high as the bathroom door opened, revealing steam and Moriarty. In nothing more than a towel around his slim waist.

Moriarty's face was neutral as he assessed all of John's little movements and body language. Noting everything. His eyes bore right into John's, making him want to squirm under the scrutiny but staying still and facing him head on. Eyes level with his, daring the devil.

Finally he cracked a smile and broke the silence, "How're you feeling my lovely?"he asked walking over to John, leaving behind wet footprints on the cream colored marble.

Stopping by the side of the bed, looking down at John with mirth behind his eyes. "What do you think?" in condescending tone, he continued, "I feel like some fucking loony, burnt their damned initials onto my chest, but other than that I feel pretty damned swell." He finished in the most sarcastic tone he could muster.

Glancing to the side, waiting for a slap or punishment for speaking to Moriarty like that, but nothing came. Looking up at his face, expecting to see it morphed in anger and displeasure. Much to his surprise, he saw him smiling wide, eyes twinkling with joy. Moriarty laughed, bending down and took John's chin in hand, softly lifting his face up to be close to his, breath caressing his cheek.

"Oh Johnny, I knew that wouldn't break you, that would've been too easy. No, you're strong,so very strong. You'll take anything I throw at you, won't you? Why? Because you'll do anything for your 'bwig swista', anything at all. But this isn't about that." Moving John's head, he whispered in his ear, hot breath blowing in, "No Johnny, this isn't about that anymore, I mean it was but then I saw you, and I felt you and now you're my little obsession. I want you with me now and forever because you're just so pretty, strong, and noble." He paused, "Well maybe, I still want to see what makes you crack and chip but I don't want you broken, that would just be boring! You'd be like all the other mindless, boring bodies that are just there to be fucked. I don't want that! I can have that anywhere! No...I want you, all of you, mind, body and soul. You're just so… delicious. I'm a moth drawn to your flames!"

John didn't want to listen anymore, he wanted Jim to take his damned hands off his face and let him go, to run, and never look back. But he didn't, frozen in place, he fought off the slight shivers he was getting from both the proximity and to what was being said. He kept his face impassive, as much as he could. Trying not to flinch when he felt Moriarty's tongue on his ear, wet and hot, goosebumps appeared on his skin.

Moriarty began to nibble on John's earlobe, biting down hard onto his lower lip, stifling any sound that threatened to escape. He stayed silent as Moriarty continued down to his neck, biting and suckiling onto his flesh leaving behind crimson prints. Saliva making his neck feel cold.

"You see, I like to borrow my things. People get just a tiny little taste of what I have, and become easier to control, to dominate, because you have something they want and crave, but it's yours and you hold all the power to choose and pick who uses it, who uses you. And in return I use them, their silly...little,simple minds. I mean look at you, you were an army captain and a doctor, well respected at that, and now you bear yourself in order to protect your sister. Isn't that just sweet and pathetic?"

He whispered this against John's throat, his hand still on his face and the other holding onto his waist, keeping him still and feeling for any tremors his body gave out. He felt sick, he hated to admit it, but it was true.

He was a soldier and a doctor, now he was forced to be this. Let his body get used in any shape or form this mad man saw fit, it made him feel useless and disgusted with himself, but he wouldn't let this spider's words fuck him over, Fuck this man's sodding mind games!, he made a promise to himself and damn it he was going to keep it.

He didn't move or make a sound as Moriarty pushed him down into the bed, unwrapping the towel around his waist, revealing his straining cock.

John hated that this man was attractive, he might've been a monster but he was gorgeous, his face was handsome, his body was pale and fit, slim but chiseled, he hated it.

Moriarty began to lick a stripe down to John's navel starting from the end of the bandages and working down.

John looked up, not wanting his body to betray him, thinking of death and gore from his army days, trying all he could so his body wouldn't react to the stimuli.

Moriarty hooked his fingers to John's pajama bottoms, pulling down, showing that whoever took 'care' of him, when he was passed out, didn't bother putting pants on him.

Going still and holding his breath as he was laid bare for Moriarty's hungry eyes to see.

Keeping a straight face and not moving as James ran his hands up John's legs, hips, and waist skipping the bandages and going right to his face. Caressing his cheek as he spoke, running his thumb over John's bottom lip, " I like that you're mine now Johnny, my own pretty little army doctor.", smiling down at him, diving down for a forceful kiss, attacking his mouth, with lips, tongue and teeth. John opened his mouth for Jim to enter, falling right back into his role as the 'willing, human fuck doll'. Licking into his mouth and biting his lips, Moriarty gave John no choice but to swallow the spit that was accumulating at the back of his throat, so he wouldn't choke.

Moaning, James pulled back, catching John's lower lip between his teeth and giving a sharp bite, leaving Johns lip to ooze blood down onto his chin and into his mouth. "Red looks lovely on you Johnny." He said, going back in and attacking his neck, leaving more bite marks on his skin, some bleeding from sharp, insisting teeth.

John squirmed a bit from the pain on his neck and the friction of Jim's body over his burn. He gasped, as cold hands found his soft cock and squeezed, causing a spark of pleasure to shoot up his spine.

Smiling, Moriarty licked the blood off of John's chin and went for another kiss as he began to pump his fist onto John's cock.

Cursing his body as it started to show interest, trying hard not to make any sounds. His cheeks and ears breaking out into a blush as all the blood ran to his cock, making it swell and lengthen. "Don't be like that Johnny, just let lose, I promise I won't hurt you. I'll make this just as nice for you, as it is for me." he said, looking John in the eyes as he gave his prick a long, slow pull. Swiping his thumb over the slit, spreading precum over the head, making his hips jump up involuntarily.

John balled his fitsts into the sheets until his knuckles were white. He clenched his jaw and bared his teeth, turning his head to the side so he wouldn't look at him directly, exposing his neck in the process. Moriarty gave a small laugh at his stubbornness. He shoved his unoccupied hand onto John's face, prying his lips and teeth open with his thumb. Knowing better than to bite down, John let it happen. His mouth now open, allowing his sounds to run rampant.

"There you go, now I can hear all your whorish little whines." Moriarty rasped, releasing his thumb from his mouth, covered in John's saliva, only to fill it up again with his middle and ring finger.

Moriarty nudged John's legs open with his. Following the wordless command, he spread his legs, kneeling in between, looming over his body, watching him fidget and twitch as Jim continued to pump John's penis.

Pulling his fingers free from his mouth. Wet from John's saliva, placing them under his own mouth, spitting in his hand. He smeared the saliva all over his fingers then moved them downwards, towards John's anus, still working on his shaft.

John felt a warm finger probe him, the feeling sending another wave of pleasure through him. Causing him moan involuntarily, lifting his hand to shut his mouth, only before it got to make its mark. Moriarty moved and stopped it before it could, releasing his cock in the process, slamming his arm into the bed.

The finger inside him all the way in now, moving and curling, searching for his prostate. "Look at you, trying so hard to keep quiet. You don't like it that your body is craving this, pleading for release, because you don't want this, but look." he said, indicating with his head, the way that John was squirming and huffing, trying to stop his stuttering hips from seeking friction as Moriarty fucked him with his finger, "You're practically begging for it." he stated, finding John's prostate in the process making him keen and shiver, seeing stars as his body went down involuntarily, seeking more friction.

Chuckling at that, Moriarty added another, doing a scissoring motion to stretch out his tight hole.

Hating his body, John tried to still himself, cursing violently in his head as Moriarty kept hitting the sweet spot in his arsehole. The bastard was doing this on purpose, he knew that John prefered for him to be cruel, it was easier to deal with.

John could handle physical abuse, he had in the past with his father, but this was not that, this was mental, he wanted to make John hate himself for enjoying this, to make him feel disgusted with himself, and to be true, he did.

He hated that Moriarty's fingers were doing en excellent job in making him wither, hated that, that is exactly what he wanted.

He wanted to watch the inner turmoil rage on inside of him, watching at how he was so torn between letting his mind lose and enjoying the moment of bliss and feeling disgusting for even thinking about that option.

This man was a monster, a cruel, fucked up individual who enjoyed watching people getting raped, getting tortured and killing innocents without even batting an eye, condoning violence and aiding the criminal, he was evil to say the least, and here he was, making John moan and groan as he did incredible things to his body, it sickened him.

Adding a third finger, he moved and twisted them, pumping them in and out of him, lude noises were heard in doing so. Moriarty began licking and nibbling his inner thighs, not stopping his hand in working him open.

Then, he stopped.

Pulling out his fingers he sat up, pulling John's legs over his thighs. With the same hand that was fingering him, he spat in it again, only this time, coating his cock, positioning himself to John's entrance.

Thrusting in without warning, he went in completely, not giving John any time to adjust to his length, he began to thrust, setting a brutal pace, not enough to cause a tear or horrible pain, but enough to cause a bit of discomfort.

Like the first time in the alleyway, it was a pleasurable pain, only this time he was on his back and facing him, watching as he delivered each thrust.

It seemed that Moriarty couldn't keep his hands still or in one place for too long, he did however keep one hand always on his hip, keeping him in place as he thrusted in and out, switching them from time to time, moving one up and down his thigh or to his neck and face, alternating between pulling and tugging at his hair and caressing him, the change was always so random and out of nowhere, not knowing which would come next.

Again, he hated that Moriarty was so damn attractive.

His body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and water from his shower, his body was practically hairless except for the line of dark, soft hair starting from his bellybutton and leading to his groin, his skin also looked soft, watching as his pale abdomen tightened and released with his movements, causing his muscles to show even more. The bastard looked like he was carved from stone, not a blemish on his body, it pissed him off, beyond belief.

Looking up at him he noticed that James was staring right at him with a smirk on his face, "Fuck!", "Like what you see Johnny boy? I sure do." he rasped in a husky voice, licking his lips and ramming into him with a bit more force.

Mortified at being caught admiring his body, but his mind too far gone to really care about it. He decided to ignore the comment, choosing instead to look out the window.

John was close, the tight coil inside of him ready to snap at any moment, with constant friction to his cock and prostate, he was bound to orgasm soon. Then there was a hand in his hair, pulling his head back, hard, exposing his neck. Moriarty moved forward and bit down, thrusting into him a few more times before he ejaculated inside of him.

Hatefully enough, that is what pushed John over the edge, cumming in between them, painting their stomachs in white.

Huffing and panting, John came down from his high, noticing that James was licking the blood off of his neck, "What the bloody fuck is wrong with em!" he thought, trying not to voice his thoughts.

Pulling out he stood up and looked down at him, "He likes to do that, doesn't he?", He thought as he felt his body remind him that he was still pretty sore from yesterday, and his chest hurt like hell, realizing now that it was getting rubbed at throughout the entire thing, his bandages now wet from both their sweat and blood from getting rubbed at raw.

"You look like shit Johnny boy." he said in a happy tone, walking away and heading for the bathroom, "Make sure to change your bandages, wouldn't want you getting an infection and dying, that would be anticlimactic. Oh and you're off the hook for work the next week, seeing as how you're all..." He said, turning around and waving his hand at John up and down, "jacked up." He snickered, turning back around, finally entering the bathroom, again and closing the door behind himself.

Annoyed at the fact that cum was beginning to run down his arse and onto his thighs, he stood and half walked, half limped out of the bedroom, heading for the main bathroom outside so he could shower and change his bandages.

Entering the bathroom and locking the door behind him, undoing the bandages, he went straight for the shower, turning it on and stepping in, standing right under the spry, not really caring that it was still cold.

He sighed as it went warm, ignoring the burning from the brand, he began to lather up the scrubber with soap.

He was tired and sore everywhere all he wanted now was a good night's rest, "At least I don't have to do anything or go anywhere any time soon, at least for a little while." He thought, his lips turning up just a tiny bit.

Tell me what you think.

I'll update when I can.

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Thank you for reading! Until next time...


	7. Chapter 7

"Do you walk in the valley of kings?

Do you walk in the shadow of men

Who sold their lives to a dream?

Do you ponder the manner of things

In the dark"

-Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney

Sherlock was never one to empathise. Did people not comprehend that caring wasn't going to get them anywhere? If anything caring was going to lead to anger and frustration, things that he did not need, nor will he ever.

They needed to open their eyes, and think, if only for a little. Put their brains to good use every once in awhile.

They were getting all worked up over a bomber and hostages. Could they not see that it was a game of wits? Find and follow the clues, instead of ignoring all of them.

Honestly...

Sitting in Lestrade's office, coming down from the high of Moriarty's latest puzzle.

Really?! The supernova! How did he not get it sooner? The child was alive, but he could have gotten the answer faster if it wasn't for the assassin distracting him, leaving a small, bothersome bump on his head. Then, have the NSY on him right after, jumping him with questions of his well being, like he was some fragile deer or hurt puppy. Could they not see that he was fine? Was absolutely vacant in their heads, to not notice? Did they even use their eyes?!

He wouldn't admit it aloud, seeing as how everybody had a stick shoved up their arse. He was having fun with all this, how could he not?! The promise of entertainment was everything his mind ever craved and yearned for. Of course, it was playing with people's lives, with which he wasn't very comfortable with.

Moriarty was a cruel person, he had killed that woman without hesitation. With the way he had blown up all those buildings he would definitely kill more innocents.

Deep down he was getting antsy with all the uncertainty. He already knew the name of the culprit, which was everything he would normally need to find the wrongdoer, but this man was different. His tracks were hidden, more so than the usual. When he did find the hidden clue, it was always useless, leading him down a dead end. The search was fun, but after several weeks with no leads it was beginning to be tedious.

The indubitable, was that the man was incredibly intelligent and powerful. He had a flare for the dramatic, was not scared to kill anyone or anything and was incredibly infantile in the form of being a tease, leaving behind flirtatious comments, childish insults and taunts.

At the sound of the office door opening, Sherlock turned to see Lestrade walk in.

"Heavy footsteps, wide but sluggish gait, sagged shoulders and sunken eyes. Tired and worn out, Probably an indication that he didn't sleep well last night; do to both having a row with his wife and the bombings that started a week prior, putting more pressure on him to find his culprit.

No doubt he was emotionally compromised from the day's events, do to the involvement of a child."

He deduced, in a matter of milliseconds.

"When can I leave? I'm busy finding you a bomber." Sherlock said, in a cold and detached voice. His face impassive.

Lestrade sighed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb to eyes and nose. No doubt stressed by this whole fiasco.

"I just need your statement from today, then, you can leave. God knows we need this bastard behind bars and we need every asset we got on this." Lestrade finished, his face worn and distraught, just wanting the day to be over.

Sherlock rushed through his statement, not wanting to stay longer than necessary. Exiting Lestrade's office with a bit more flourish than necessary, belstaff whipping behind him.

Rushing past the other officers on his way. He made it outside, the cold fall night chilling his skin and tinting his cheeks a soft pink.

He made his way through the side of the road in search of a cab to get him home. Suddenly hearing a rustling to his side, turning to look, he saw one of his homeless network shuffling over with her cart. She passed by him, delivering her information in his waiting hand discreetly.

Walking away, he waited until he flagged down a cab and got inside, into the semi-safety of the car, to see the note. Telling the cabbie to head towards 221B Baker Street.

Opening its confines, he smiled slightly to himself. It was an address, 42 Gateway Dr. It was located in one of the 'not so safe' parts of London. Known to be where the dealers, prostitutes and gangsters roamed, also where the most risqué nightclubs were at.

But this didn't make Sherlock smile, if anything it would have made him cringe. Memories of all the times he had gone in search of his favored narcotic in this very same street, in search of a cheap fix to quiet his mind, if only for a moment.

No, what made him smile was what was written at the bottom of the address. "Moriarty's place - Château".

He found him.

Sherlock turned towards the cab driver. "Change of plans! Go to 42 Gateway Drive.", without a word the man changed his course in head, to the new destination.

Sherlock looked out the window, giddy. He was finally going to meet 'Moriarty', the creator of all these little puzzles and tricks. See what he could really do. How smart was this funny little bomber?

Tell me what you think, I love all the feed back I receive from you guys! 3

Constructive criticism is always welcome!

I'll update when I can.

Thank you for reading! Until next time...


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for not updating, for a good while. I've been a lazy sack of shit. Sorry bout that._

 _But I have now so please enjoy!_

 _*No smut in this one, sorry._

" _Prowling around at night_

 _You're not mean, you're just born to be seen_

 _Born to be wild._

 _You're so Art Deco, out on the floor_

 _Shining like gun metal, cold and unsure_

 _Baby, you're so ghetto_

 _You're looking to score._

 _When they all say hello_

 _You try to ignore them."_

-Art Deco by Lana Del Rey

John _hated_ Moriarty, with a passion.

It had been three days since John returned to his... _job_?

Beforehand, Moriarty was a bit more _feisty_ than the usual. He was more aggressive and controlling.

Tying and gagging him, so he could whip him, on one occasion. All done with a sick smile, raping him brutally after words. Although this wasn't anything new, he was known to be sick fuck.

What was _really_ plaguing John was the fact that Moriarty was out most of the time. (Not that he missed him. God no. He feared for the people, with him, creeping the streets.) Doing god knows what, you know what? Scratch that. John _knew_ what he was doing! The bombings on the telly were a pretty obvious sign, he wasn't an idiot to believe what the reporters were saying, that they were leaked gas lines or some shit. Moriarty was in a _too_ good of a mood for it to be _just_ that, and to be honest, bombs were one of his specialties.

So if Moriarty was in a good mood, that meant John was screwed, both figuratively speaking and literally.

A happy Moriarty, meant he was flavoring something particular.

Take today for instance.

Moriarty desired to see John perform in nothing more than, women lingerie. So he did the _logical_ thing, and sent Sebastian to man handle him into wearing just that! No doubt wanting to humiliate him.

Since there was _no way_ _**in hell**_ he was wearing that sober, an argument was insured. (Better said a fist fight.)

So of course, he _fought like hell_ when Sebastian turned up in the changing room's of the club, holding the garments in question, ordering him to wear them, scaring the other dancers with his presence.

They argued at first. Trying to keep things semi-civil, only to have _that_ illusion broken when Sebastian called him a " _Cum-bucket bitch"_. John had lost his temper and fistis went flying.

He fought quite valiantly.

He took smug satisfaction that Sebastian couldn't really hurt him in front of all those witnesses, unless he wanted Moriarty on his ass. So he _too_ did the logical thing and tasered him into submission. But before he did, John made sure to give him good left hook to his bottom right rib.

The stun wasn't enough to cause a cut or a bruise, in fact, it was _just_ enough to momentarily paralyze him. Leaving him wide awake, without his mobility.

He had forcible undressed him and redressed him in Moriarty's take on 'stage wear'.Taking his _sweet_ _damn_ time in admiring John's naked form, groping him _ever_ so discreetly every once in awhile.

Once done, he had warned John that if he took it off, he was going to have one _hell_ of a painful night.

When he did walk out of the changing room, taking his menacing and consuming aura with him, the other workers could finally breath.

Leaving his unresponsive body to lay on the floor, only to be helped up by his co workers once they made sure Sebastian _really_ was gone.

Which brings him to the present moment, sitting on one of the many high chairs in the changing room, getting his lips done-up by one of his _numerous_ friends.

She gave him a sympathetic smile "You don't have to worry about it too much, it actually looks good on you." she said, trying to make him feel better about his humiliation. Giving him an encouraging squeeze to his good shoulder, smiling sadly at him, not in pity, never in pity, but in understanding.

He liked that about her, about most of the people here. They _all_ understood where he was coming from. Most, if not all of them were doing this out of necessity or to take care of someone they loved. Preferring to be _here_ instead of out in the streets. _Here_ it was safer, they didn't have to worry about disease, pimps taking all of there money or insane people looking for their next victim.

Sure this place had its perks but it was still dangerous, there was still messed up people who came here. Those that were into pain-play, hardcore BDSM, or other not so safe, rough saxual play. So most of the time, the escorts were hurt from this or from their customers just being straight up insensitive.

Which in turn, perked up the doctor in him, wanting to help with what he could, when the brothel doctors were busy.

On his spare time he would help out as much as he could. John even had his own medical kit in his room, in the bottom of one of his drawers.

He had treated _many_ people here, from rope burn to internal bleeding, sprained-limbs and bloody cuts. So it was inevitable that he gain some friendship with some of his 'patients'. One of which was this lovely women, standing in front of him.

Her name was Maria, she was a gorgeous latina women, with brown, wavy hair and blond tips. Her eyes were a lovely brown with lighter tinges surrounding her pupil, her skin color was a warm caramel. She was petite for a women her age, but beautiful nun the less.

She was kidnaped when she was younger, and sold off into sex trade. There is where Moriarty found her, she was (is) a _striking_ women and he saw promise in that, so he had bought her and brought her here, to work her days away as a prostitute. She had once said that it was better here, from all the places she's been to, drug dens and cheap brothels, here was the best. She had freedom, clean clothes, and health on her side. That she would take this over dying in a gutter any day. She didn't like it, but it was the better evil. Plus it paid for her child.

The clicking of heel is what brought him out of his thoughts. He turned to Maria, "I look like a fool. A monkey in heels." he said, in a flat tone and straight face. She laughed, "Now, now. Don't sell yourself short! You look rather nice in it. It might suck for you, but it's not _that_ bad, better than getting a beating don't cha think?"

He huffed, rolling his eyes at her poor attempt to make him feel better.

 _How_ could he feel _better_ when his last fragment of masculinity was being thrown in his face? Making him parade around in women's shoes and makeup, he was uncomfortable in his own skin right now.

John was a simple man, he wore things that made him feel comfortable, if wearing something made you feel _good_ in your body, then go for it, but being forced into something, _anything_ , just wasn't... _right_.

Like now.

John was a man. He was happy with his gender, he had no problems with it. So right now, was something he more than just felt a little bitter about.

He felt humiliated, with nothing he could do about it, but to toughen through it, like everything in his life now.

Right now John had no choice, he could deal with beatings, but he wouldn't risk another fight with Sebastian. What if they hurt his sister for it? For being too _difficult_. That he couldn't do, _wouldn't_ do. Not if she was involved.

He sighed, looking over to the mirror in the dressing room and looked at his reflection. John was used to wearing skimpy outfits for his dances but _this_ took the cake.

John cringed, trying not to pay too much attention to the brand and the sniper scar, as he stood and caught sight of one of his 'biggest' regrets, inked onto his skin.

The word 'sex', tattooed onto his navel, in prominent black, right above his groin. He had gotten it back in his army days, when he would sleep around to forget the day's events, smothering the memories in someone's else's body.

It was a joke for him, they said he was amazing at it, so in his tiny man brian he thought it would be a good idea to get it inked. Forever. On his navel. Bad idea really.

Now he had to live it. Forever. Just like the brand on his chest and the scar on his shoulder. But to justify himself he didn't think he was going to live through Afghanistan.

Annoyed with his line of thought, he continued to stare at himself. He had to admit, he didn't look like an _absolute_ train wreck but...eh.

"John! Your on soon!", one of the dancers yelled. He turned and looked at the far end of the dressing room, to where the stage he would be exiting out from was. He took a deep breath and turned to Maria, who had stayed quiet for his sake. He offered her a small, tired smile. She returned it with one of her own. "Try not to think about too much, it's the mind that breaks first, remember.", he nodded and squeezed the hand she had offered.

Letting go, he turned and made his way to the stage, where the DJ had just finished announcing his stage name.

He took a deep breath, and let it out shakaly. He steeled his nerves and went towards the bright, deep blue light.

Prepared for his show.

Stepping out of the cabbie, Sherlock looked around.

 _Château_ , was a big building, that stood out from the rest of the flashy, _gaudy_ buildings at its surrounding. The only thing alit, was the sign. The letters were silver and big, under it, were purple and blue lights, the sliver catching the blue and purple hues, giving it, a more radiating look.

It was quite tasteful, if he was being sincere.

The people walking around seemed to avoid this building entirely, preferring to walk on the other side of the street then anywhere near here.

Another aspect that seemed to stand out, was that _this_ building, didn't have _any_ graffiti, something that was uncommon for this part of the city. Paint would have been applied _graciously_ , with all that blank space on it's walls, yet there was nothing. It was clear, clean.

This place was obviously owned by someone with power, someone the people of this part, _knew_ was dangerous and not to be annoyed. That's why the building didn't have any paint, if they did attempt it, they would surely be punished. This could be seen by anybody, by the way they avoided the building so blandly.

Sherlock's lips twitched. Talk about being discreet. Moriarty was either an incredible idiot, or he knew that there was no touching him. Sherlock recognized that it was the later.

There had been word about a man in Ireland, who was well connected enough to not be touched by any type of law enforcement there. That if he shot someone in plane sight, no one would say a word, too scared for their own lives to do anything about it.

So that's who Moriarty was, a man so feared, he thought he was above the law.

Little did this man know, Sherlock was not one to shy away from danger. Willing to go through any means necessary, to finish a case.

Sherlock walked up to the entrance of the establishment, opening it's black tinted, glass doors, only to find on the other side a bouncer, with another set of black tinted doors behind him.

He walked up to him.

"Name.", "Sherlock Holmes, I'm here to see Moriarty.", The man seemed to recognize his name ,for he had stepped aside. Taking a black card out in the process and holding it out for him, "Flash this up ahead, they'll let you through without a problem." he said in a deep voice.

Sherlock took the card and moved forward.

Moriarty had been waiting for him, there was no questioning it. He was expecting him by the way the bouncer recognized his name without having to look at his tablet screen to find his name. That meant he had memorized it.

Sherlock looked around, taking everything in. He was in a large room, with black wooden doors on each side, the floor was black marble, the walls were black tile, and the lights were a dim purple. On the other end, there was another man, standing in front of an elevator door.

Sherlock walked to him and flashed him the card. Upon seeing it he moved aside and pressed the 'up' button on the elevator. Once opened it revealed another man. Standing on the other side. "Take him to the boss." the man said.

Sherlock walked in, not waiting to be ushered.

Watching as the man pushed the second floor button, taking in notice that there were five floors in total, not including the two sub levels.

The elevator doors closed.

As they ascended, Sherock took this time to observed the man in front of him.

He too, was a guard. Like all the rest, he had on a black on black suit with pristine, black shoes and hidden in his coat pocket was a gun.

Sherlock could see that they were all well trained, by their build and their 'I take no shit'

demeanor.

Moriarty knew what and who he was keeping around.

Sherlock knew this was a dangerous place to be. Any fool would have said _fuck that_ as soon as they stepped out of the cab, running off with their tail between their legs. Sherlock on the other hand, gave zero fucks. He was curious. Fear be damned, he wanted answers.

The elevator door open to reveal the same black marble floor and black, tile wall.

Only here there were men and women dancing on poles and in cages.

The dim lights reflected off of the smoke in the air.

The music was beatty but not overly annoying, if anything it was oddly erotic; it was smooth with a hint of class. The dancers, danced in tune with the music, their movements slow and sensual, provocative and captivating.

The audience watched with hunger in their eyes, following the movements of hips and chests, hungrily asking for more as they waved money in the air, begging for attention.

Sherlock ignored the smell of arousal in the air as he left the elevator and looked for Moriarty. He hadn't a clue as to what Moriarty looked like but he was certain he would be able to tell.

Just as he walked in further into the club, a man came up to him; he was tall and blond with a scar on his face.

"Sherlock Holmes." It wasn't a question,"Follow me.", he turned and began to walk. Sherlock tailed after him knowing he was taking him to Moriarty, as they crisscrossed around roaming dancers and guests.

As they moved, he deduced the man leading him.

 _Tall, wide shoulders, definitely strong. Gun in belt and in jacket pocket. Knives, hidden in jacket sleeves and legs. Dangerous. His gait, Steady and sure. Poster, ex soldier, wouldn't hesitate in killing. Cold demeanor, antisocial. Mercenary._

They went up a step and stopped by a long stage where a lounge encircled it. It was a separate room. For special performances perhaps?

In front of the stage sat a man in a large booth with numerous women clad in little to nothing at his sides. "Oh _Sherly_! You finally got here! I thought it was going to take you _forever_ to come." he spoke in a Irish accent.

So this _was_ the same man who had cause havoc in Ireland. He was pale and had stubble on his chin, his hair was black and slicked back, in a business like manner, his eyes were black-brown, deep and dark.

"Moriarty I presume." Sherlock looked down at Moriarty, into his dead, black eyes. "The one and only.", He smiled up at Sherlock as the women cuddled up to him. "You wanted me to find you. Meet you. Why?" Sherlock asked, as he assessed Moriarty. He seemed relaxed, unnerved that Sherlock now knew his hideout, not caring that he might have on a tracker that could lead the cops right to him.

"Why not, I thought it would be fun to talk to each other face to face, meet the Ice man's baby brother. See his weakness in the flesh." Sherlock made a face, "If that was the case, why lead me here, in such a public place with all these eyes. If you were hoping to kill me or kidnap me in order to get to Mycroft. Your logic is failing me."

Moriarty laughed as he brought a women closer to himself, so she was now cuddling up to his chest, hands drifting in and out of his suit jacket. "What would be the point. Ice man's got eyes on you all the time. If I wanted to kill you, I would have saved us both the trouble and shot you through your living room window, and if I wanted you to be blackmail, well like I said , Ice man's got eyes _everywhere_. I don't want to give him a reason to mess with my work. He's a pain in the ass as it is and all I do _now_ is mess with em. Killing his younger brother would _definitely_ put me on his shit list, of which, I don't think I'm on... _Yet_." He said with a smile.

"Then why do all of this? The bombings? Leading me here? For your own amusment?", This man was an enigma, he was crazy enough to do all of this just to get a kick out of it, Sherlock was sure of it. However he knew there was a reason as to why he had led him here.

"Hmmmmm Yes and no. Yes it is fun watching you run around like a chicken without a head." He snickered "But there is a reason." His smile grew cruel.

The women by his sides shrunk at his expression. Some of them cowering in fear.

"Stay out of my business, it's a pain having to relocate them when you find them out and to be franc. I'm losing money because of it, not that it denters me but it is tedious. So do us both a favor. Stay out of things that don't have anything to do with you. I did those pretty bombings to get you to see that messing with me is a _big_ no no. But your too _thick_ to get it... Or you just _don't care_." , "You want me out of your way, is that it? To not disrupt yo-.". " **Ladies and gentlemen it is my great pleasure to present to you the breathtaking... Johnny**!"

Sherlock was cut off mid sentence by the DJ. Something that he didn't take too kindly.

When he began to speak again, Moriarty stopped him.

"Listen Sherly, _honey_ , I'd _love_ to here what you have to say, I _really_ do, but my prized stallion is about to strut their stuff and today is a _special_ day so if you don't mind, sit down and _shut up_." He said as he pushed the woman brutally off, where she half fell into the table.

Sherlock was about to argue when loud violins began to play.

The room he was in, was suddenly filled. No one was speaking, everybody in the room was tense with sexual tension, so much so that it was almost tangible.

The lights in the room had changed into a deep blue.

The atmosphere, it was suddenly so very _sexual_ that it made Sherlock somewhat uncomfortable. Then he saw a figure come out from backstage, the figure, was male.

He had on blood red Boxer Briefs with fishnet stockings held secure with thigh garters, the high heels he had on were red as well, with spikes on the heels.

He was attractive to say the least.

Johnny was it? He was blond and gorgeous, his hair soft looking and short, an overgrown, military cut. His skin was littered with scars, tattoos and hickeys.

The tattoo that stood out the most was the one on his navel. In lovely victorian writing he had the word "Sex" tattooed. He also had other captivating tattoos such as the red pulse lines around his neck and wrists or the rather interesting "RAMC" tattoo on his right, upper arm.

But what mainly caught his eye was the horrid scar on his left shoulder. The scar tissue there was paler compared to the rest of him; it shot out like a cracks all over his shoulder and collarbone, like vines clinging to his skin to stay alive. In the center of all those cracks and vines was a big circle. The belly of the spider.

" _A bullet scar, Big bullet. Sniper round. Exit wound."_ His brain helpfully informed him.

Right under, was another horrid scar.

A brand.

The panting in the song brought him back into the moment. He focused his sight, to see the man moving his chest, as if he were the one panting.

His movements were slow and sensual, as he walked up to the pole in the center of the stage. His hips swaying with each step he took.

When he got to the pole the lyrics began.

" _Every Saturday night I get dressed up to ride for you, baby"_

He did a lazy spin, in tune with the beat of the song, lifting his arm and running his hand over his hair, in teasing like way. His facial expression was neutral as he did so, eyes cast down, towards the floor of the stage.

" _Cruising down the street on Hollywood and Vine for you, baby"_

His body continued with the beat and moved his body in a thrusting like motion with his entire body, almost like a wave. Moving his head to the side and mouthed the " _baby_ " as the women in the song, sang it in a voice in what you could only describe as _sex_.

" _I drive fast, wind in my hair, I push you to the limits 'cause I just don't care_

 _You ask me where I been?_

 _I've been everywhere_

 _I don't wanna be no where but here_

 _(Come on, tell me boy)"_

As the song picked up, he heaved his body onto the pole and let his head and chest fall back as he sipped around. Once he did a full three, fast spins he let his legs fall back onto the floor and jut out his bum. Letting his back arch as he held onto the pole with his hands, swaying his hips in the process. Thrusting his body again so it did the same wave like motion only this time coming up to the pole.

Keeping his pelvis close to the pole he moved so his face could be seen by the audience. He mouthed the words " _Come on, tell me boy_ " but the woman's voice, in the song was so slurred it sounded like " _Come and take me boy."_

It was all so very erotic and sexy, his actions made every person in the room antsy to touch him, even Sherlock was not immune to this man's hypnotic motions. Only Sherlock was not as compulsive as the rest of the mindless persons here to be so repulsive as to blatantly touch themselves in the middle of a crowded room.

He also knew how to control his transporte.

Yes, his sexual interests were peaked but he could ignore them, Moriarty on the other hand, was mesmerized by this man's show.

Sherlock could tell by the way his eyes never left his active form, his hollow gaze following the man's body and face, in a carnal like way.

" _Every Saturday night I seem to come alive for you, baby_

 _Santa Monica, I'm racing in the lights for you, baby_

 _I drive fast, radio blares, have to touch myself to pretend you're there_

 _Your hands were on my hips, your name is on my lips_

 _Over over again, like my only prayer_

 _(Come on, tell me boy)"_

When the music slowed down, he moved to crawl on the floor, Getting to the edge of the stage he slowed to a stop and got onto his knees, legs spread wide.

Now closer than before, Sherlock now had a better view of the man's face. His pouty lips were painted red. Face passive. The only thing giving away any emotion were his eyes.

They were blue, burning blue, they were dark and cold as they stared down at Moriarty. Hatred so blatant in his stare, it send chills down Sherlock's spine of the sheer intensity of his raw emotion.

Moving again, breaking the eye contact, his body picked up on the beat that arose.

Still in a kneeling position he throw himself back. Curving his spine off of the ground, abdominal muscles tightening as he quickly brought himself back up into kneeling position, moving his hands to his groin, pushing his cock down as the song sang " _Have to touch myself to pretend you're there_." His head facing away from Moriarty, revealing his neck. Sherlock quickly spotted shame, flashing on the man's face.

Quickly controlling his face to show no emotion, he moved on with his performance.

Putting his hand on the stage he pushed his body towards the floor and moved forward so his chest was on the smooth tiles, arse in the air, giving his back a perfect arch. Smoothly going back into kneeling position he looked at Moriarty, moving his hand to his mouth, putting two finger to his lips as he mouthed the last verse, again.

Looking at Moriarty dead in the eye.

" _I've got a burning desire for you, baby_

 _I've got a burning desire_

 _(Come on, tell me boy)_

 _I've got a burning desire for you, baby_

 _I've got a burning desire_

 _(Come on, tell me boy)"_

Standing, he moved back to the pole, continuing his dance.

Throughout the entire performance Sherlock was locked between Moriarty and "Johnny".

Deducing that the man, was not here by choice. The brand on his chest being a dead give away.

(Who would _willingly_ get a brand of a person's initials?) Other then that, he seemed to be ashamed by the whole thing; not looking at the people at his feet, throwing him money, not wanting to meet their gazes. If he was there by choice he would have looked at them all, trying to get more money from them with being flirtatious.

The only person he was willing to look at was Moriarty, which wasn't much, only looking at him to send him glares and hated stares.

When the performance was over, "Johnny" was left panting on the floor, keeping his eyes on the ground, avoiding eye contact with the men and women waving money at him.

When he caught his breath, he heaved himself off of the ground with the help of the pole. Turning to walk back, from where he had exited from. Leaving the money to lay on the stage, for one of the other workers to recover it up for him.

Sherlock turned to face Moriarty again, watching as he kept his eyes on the man leaving, eyes glazed over with _want_.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "I believe I have, overstayed my welcome." He said in an icy tone. Glaring at Moriarty.

"Oh don't be like that!" Moriarty said as he stood "You can stay if you want, I just won't be here to keep ya company. I got other _pressing_ matters to attend to." He turned to the blond man who had guided him. "Tell Johnny to meet me up in his room, he's only seeing me tonight." He whispered to him, Sherlock only barely understanding, by reading his lips.

The man nodded and turned to leave.

Moriarty looked back at Sherlock, I hope I got my point across." He said, smiling.

"Oh, I do believe you did. Now, I hope you don't mind, but I'll be taking my leave now. I have other things that need to be done." Sherlock said, in a false hospitality. "I'll be catching you later."

Sherlock turned, not giving Moriarty a chance to reply. Heading towards the elevator.

Sherlock was no one's fool.

If Moriarty thought that Sherlock was going to leave things be, he was no better the common old goldfish in this club.

He will have this so called "Spider" under his shoe in no time.

Sherlock had just gotten started after all.

He was going to destroy this spider's web from the inside out, but first he needed intell. Weak spots in the web. And where to better find a willing information broker then a forced party.

The army doctor with burning blue eyes was going to be essential in this game of there's.

The one who held the most intellect, would be the winner of the game, and Sherlock had just found his winning ace.

Thank you for reading!

Until next time...


End file.
